


Regnum Hierosolymitanum - A Game for Jerusalem

by NewLeeland



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Although he might have quite some similarities with Stannis Baratheon, But some also appear as themselves, Crusades, Historical characters portrayed by Star Wars characters, M/M, Oneshot collection in one specific AU, Politics & Plotting, Religious topics are mentioned, Tarkin the historical character Baldwin I, medieval warfare, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewLeeland/pseuds/NewLeeland
Summary: When his brother Godfrey, first ruler of Jerusalem, dies, Baudouin Wilhuff of House Tarkin knows his time has finally come. But ruling one's own country isn't easy with hot-headed young nobles, conniving rivals, neighbours ready for war and religious fanatics. And one particular representative of the Pope proves to be a most vexing problem...
Relationships: Orson Krennic/Wilhuff Tarkin
Kudos: 3





	Regnum Hierosolymitanum - A Game for Jerusalem

**Author's Note:**

> This not new, but actually almost two years old by now. But since I'm going to spend the bigger part of 2020 researching for and writing a final paper about this time period and region, maybe inspiration strikes once or twice to add to this AU.

His brother was dead.

News like these were supposed to cause grief and mourning. At least that was what the sanctimonious clericals expected. Truth be told, most of his vassals would too. Hypocrites. As if they would have reacted differently in his place.

Death was an abstract concept. It came quickly, unexpected, for some in the cradle, for some in bed, for some in battle. What exactly had killed his brother Godfrey was currently unknown. The letter mentioned an illness, the Arabs said one of their bowmen had slain him while he laid siege to Akkon. But yet another servant who had made his way to Edessa claimed the King had been poisoned by his enemies.

For now, it mattered little for Baudouin Wilhuff of House Tarkin, Count of Edessa. He would have to investigate the matter at some point once he had claimed the Kingdom. Revenge was one motive. If there had been foul play, bringing the murderers to justice would strengthen his rule and discourage further rebellion. He allowed himself a small smile without warmth. With rebellion, he knew how to deal. The people of Edessa knew it too now.

But it had to wait. Four hundred miles laid between him and his inheritance, the true capital of the world. Edessa had been good to him, a foothold in this foreign land, a place to plan and to provide himself with riches, soldiers and knowledge. A stepstone on his path to greatness. But it paled compared to Jerusalem. God’s own city.

No. His city.

“No one can rule in the city Christ was martyred. Your beloved brother, may he rest among the angels, was divinely guided when he decreed this. Surely you don’t mean to strive for earthly felicity in such a holy place!” The voice, ensouled by a piety that was foreign to Wilhuff, belonged to the clerical leader of Edessa, Archbishop Jewel. He was a thin, sickly Spaniard that Tarkin only tolerated because he was no threat. Until now.

“Yet he still was named King,” a young noble called Motti interrupted. “Jerusalem needs a strong leader if she wants to stay out of heathen hands. Krennic is not one.”

Wilhuff seldomly agreed with Motti, an Italian lackspittle with little regard for rules or religion. He had arrived with the second wave of crusaders and his only goal was to plunder. Like Tarkin he was a second or third son with an ego that would never suffer to serve a family member as a steward or counsellor.

_ A dangerous man. But easily manipulated and even easier disposed, should the need arise. _

Jewel and Motti were only two of more than a dozen nobles who had convened in the Council Chambers of the fortress to discuss the matter of succession. The messenger bringing news of Godrey’s death had only arrived two hours ago, sweating, dirty and on a horse that would not see the next day. Muslim bandits had chased him almost to the gates of Edessa, his escort long gone.

The man had thrown itself at Tarkin’s feet in a disgraceful display of fealty. Not even a day after his brother had passed, Orson of Krennic, the papal legate, had claimed Jerusalem for the Church.

_ For himself of course. _ Krennic’s history was a mystery, his self-styled title of Archbishop adopted, not given by the Pope. In Italy, Krennic had always weaseled around the powerful, waiting for crumbs to fall his way. Somehow, he had managed to get into the pope’s good graces and from then on, it was easy to become one of numerous leaders of this ludicrous crusade Wilhuff’s brother had led.

_ Servant of god my bloody arse! He’s nothing but a up-jumped lackey, a pirate. _ Once he had arrived in the Holy Land, Krennic ousted the real Patriarch of Jerusalem and even got Godfrey to kneel before him.

_ It was advantageous that death claimed my ‘beloved’ brother before he could waste all of my inheritance. _ Wilhuff hadn’t knelt before Krennic, he never would.  _ I will convert to Islam before that day comes. _

“But we can not attack Jerusalem. God would strike us down before our first battering ram reaches the gates,” the cautious Baron Tagge argued, his steely resolve breaking through the discussion and pulling Wilhuff back to the here and now.

“God did little to stop the Infidels from taking the city. Why would he suddenly stop us?” Motti only sneered while Jewel crossed himself, face paling upon hearing such blasphemy.

“Surely, an agreement will be reached. We are far too few in this land and we have plenty of enemies who would love nothing more than see us fight against each other. We shan’t give them the pleasure.” The wisest among the present, the war-marked veteran Sir Hurst of Romodi had spoken. He was the only man whose counsel Wilhuff really cared for, but on this day, he was wrong.

The chamber had quieted down after the well-respected man had raised his voice for the first time and it gave Wilhuff the opening to end the petty word exchanges once and for all.

“The throne and Jerusalem are mine by right. Everyone who tries to deny me what is mine is my foe and will be vanquished. Utterly and without mercy. There will be no agreements.”

His cold gaze fixated those assembled one by one and no one held the stare for more than a few seconds before bowing the heads, eyes fixed on the huge table. Only Romodi held firm, his features soft with disappointment. But he too said nothing.

“Assemble your men and call the banners. Our cavalry will leave tomorrow at dawn.”

The men grumbled, but obeyed. Baudouin Wilhuff Tarkin had little care for their complaints. His brother was dead. His time had come.


End file.
